1000 Days at the Chateau- chapter 17& epilogue
by Jacqueline Boutade
Summary: Valentine's 1000 days are over, but she remains. Behind the scenes Elise has had her way and Guy is to marry. Pierre has become a widower and on his way to Venice calls on the Marquis - fully aware that Valentine is now free. She is happy at last but confronted with the truth of Guy's situation she must choose - mistress for life or marriage to Pierre...


One Thousand Days – Chapter 17 – Pierre Returns

Valentine was well. She resumed some lessons with Monsieur Artois; she wanted to know more about the Renaissance, especially the Italian painters and cities. She looked through art books and asked Monsieur Artois questions about the chateau's collection of paintings and sculptures. She liked to walk and talk with him, the puppy playing at her feet as they strolled the halls and rooms of the great house. She felt like she was getting to know it all again.

Monsieur Artois was pleased to have Valentine back in his sphere of influence, and even though her devotion to the marquis sat heavily on his own heart he was wise enough to know, despite their confidences, that she would never look at him in the way he looked at her.

'I think it is time you travelled to Italy, my dear,' Monsieur Artois said to Valentine as they lingered by a copy of Michelangelo's David. 'There, you would see the Renaissance in all its glory. Architecture, Art, sculpture, all at home there. I suggest Milan and Florence especially.'

'Have you been to Italy, Monsieur Artois?' she asked.

He nodded, smiling broadly. 'I spent a very happy twelve months there when I was young, when I was first married.' A small shadow blighted his expression for a moment, then he recovered himself. 'I found the cities to be the most marvellous places.'

'Better than Paris?'

'To me they were. I would live in Rome given the chance. It is such an ancient grand city. So rich in history and culture. How can we consider ourselves as civilized people without the wonders of Rome and the inheritance of Roman civilization?'

'Do you consider the Roman Empire more influential than the Renaissance?' Valentine enquired.

Monsieur Artois smiled: she was coming along well: such a thoughtful question. He hoped the marquis was as pleased with her enquiring mind as he was, but Monsieur Artois was not convinced that the marquis valued a thoughtful mind in a woman. Still, he did and felt proud of his own skills as a teacher that she was able to ask such a question. She had become an accomplished young woman.

Valentine was in love. It was clear for all to see. He skin glowed and her hair shone: her figure had resumed its lissom shape. She walked with lightness and a soft spring in her step. The marquis spent every evening and night with her. Sometimes they made passionate love, where she felt like she had that month he wanted a child. There was no talk of children, but she had not resumed her hygiene routine since recovering from her fall. It was understood between them that they were bonded beyond her contract; that she was his and a child would be a welcome addition to the household.

The marquis loved to lie by her side, before or after making love, just gazing at her body. He would run his hands along her flesh, stroking her tenderly, enjoying the softness of her, the willingness of her to forgive him. He knew the first night he returned to her bed that she had forgiven him. Her kiss had been warm and sweet, her lips soft, her mouth open, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth. He suckled at her breasts, like a child taking nourishment from its mother. His hands stroked her thighs and her legs fell open for him, where she wore his ring. He liked to touch it before he penetrated her. It reassured him of their bond. He liked to feel it graze him as he pushed into her, now gentle and loving, now hard and urgent, full of passion, of desire. Her body opened to him, was warm and luscious as her sex welcomed him back. It was like returning home.

The marquis was not a great or prolific lover, but he was a man who had known several women and he knew the truth in Valentine's body, knew her forgiveness was absolute and her love true. He slept soundly knowing his seed was inside her. He slept well knowing she was fertile and it was simply a matter of time before she was with his child. His nights were things of comfort and wonder. His days were things of calm purpose and clear resolve. He was happy and his mother's disapproval meant little to him in the face of Valentine's devotion. He woke each morning with her safely in his arms and felt the rightness in his world.

Messages came from far away: the chateau was to expect two parties of visitors. A small buzz went through the household as rooms were prepared. Valentine was in the gardens when the first clatter of horses down the avenue could be heard. She walked to the front of the chateau where she was expected to greet this guest. She held her growing puppy on his leash and stood by the marquis.

Pierre, Duke of Burgundy, stepped from his carriage as handsome as she recalled, dressed in sombre tones of black with gold flourishes. His hat was festooned with extravagant feathers that he swept from his head as he bowed in greeting.

The marquis welcomed his old friend warmly. The duke embraced him and then Valentine, whom he greeted with a broad grin and his twinkling eyes.

'Hello, my dear friends,' he said. 'I am so pleased to be here again, to enjoy your hospitality.'

Guy de Chatillon clapped his friend on the shoulder and walked him into the grand house. 'I have missed you my friend. Please stay as long as you need. We are pleased to see you again, aren't we, Valentine?'

She kissed him on the cheek. 'It is lovely to have you here again,' she smiled.

Valentine was invited to dinner with the marquis and the duke in the small dining room. It was a mark of her elevation in the household that she could now be more formally acknowledged as the marquis' mistress. The dowager received the duke in her rooms but declined to dine. The marquis had made his decision clear but Elise did not have to endorse it by her presence. If Valentine had known of the dowager's feelings it would have saddened her but the marquis was determined that nothing untoward would reach her ears. He wanted to tell her things in his own way, his own time.

'I am very sorry to hear of your loss,' the marquis began, as drinks were poured.

Pierre shrugged. 'I was sorry too. But the reality is she did not make me happy, nor I her, so I assume she is in a better place now.'

'Your wife has passed?' Valentine confirmed.

Pierre nodded. 'A fever, three months gone now. It took the youngest two as well. I must confess, I feel their loss more keenly than hers.'

'My condolences,' Valentine placed a gentle hand on his arm. He smiled at the memory of his day with her.

'Papa has insisted I travel for a while. He is still very much in charge of the estate, so while he is well I am travelling for my health. A year or so, to visit our property in Venice and ensure all is well there. I must say, I appreciate his kindness. So, as you are on the way to Italy I thought I would call in. Perhaps some hunting, Guy?'

'Yes, Pierre, that would be in order.'

'Perhaps you will find a new wife on your travels?' Valentine suggested.

'I will have to eventually. The children can only go so long on the love of their nurses and tutors. Still, as my sons are well, there is no urgency in that department. I might even find one I like this time,' he chuckled, winking at Valentine.

After dinner they danced, laughing at stories from Pierre's travels and adventures since they saw him last. He described Prince Alexei's wife in glorious comedic detail and how unhappy the prince now was, despite having a son.

Guy and Valentine danced for some time, enjoying the music and being in each others' arms. Guy was happy for her to dance with Pierre too, as they were all friends this evening and it seemed churlish for Pierre not to be allowed a dance with Valentine.

'You look as ravishing as ever,' Pierre whispered in her ear as soon as he had her in his arms. 'Is the marquis finally looking after you?'

She nodded. 'We are happy.'

Pierre grunted. 'He is a lucky man. A shame, as I was going to ask you to come with me to Venice. You would love it, my dearest girl.'

'I cannot.'

'Oh, but you can.'

'I am bound to him and I love him.'

Pierre laughed. 'You cannot remember what I told you about love, then.'

'Oh, but I do, sir. I know he will never marry me but he loves me and that is enough.'

Pierre laughed again, enjoying her body pressed into his, appreciating her naive innocent attitude to the world.

He returned her to the marquis. 'I will be here a week or so; you have time to change your mind.'

She bowed to him. 'I will not change my mind,' she said firmly.

Valentine thought too much of Pierre that night as Guy made love to her. Of all the lovers she had taken over her thousand days Pierre had been the most fun. He was a masterful lover, he had not commanded her at all and he made her laugh. It was disturbing to have his smiling face in her head as the marquis moved within her, so she opened her eyes and looked at Guy, reminding herself how much she loved him.

After their love making in the still and quiet of the night, Valentine ventured a question, something she had longed to ask, stirred back into consciousness by Pierre's stories. 'Why did you not take me to Prince Alexei's wedding?'

'Ah,' the marquis said. 'Especially when he had told you you were invited?'

'Yes. I did not understand why you left me behind.'

'I know you were confused and hurt but I could not tell you, it would not have made matters easier.'

'But you will tell me now?'

The marquis nodded. 'The prince wanted you for himself. He was to be married to a woman he had no regard or affection for so he wanted a woman who would provide those things: passion, devotion, fun, perhaps even love. You were that woman. I know he asked you to go with him and I thank you for your loyalty to me. But I knew that if I took you to the wedding he would ask for you as my wedding gift to him and as he is a prince, although not strictly my prince, despite some French blue blood in his veins, I would have to agree to his request. I was not about to give you up. So I left you, telling him you had a fever and were too ill to travel. I know he did not believe me but you were out of his reach and safe.'

She nodded sadly. She had been anything but safe.

'But then Alexei said, what was the point of having a mistress if you hadn't born me a son? And it set me thinking and sent me crazy.' He turned her face to his. 'I did what I thought was best. I thought not to tell you was for the best. I should not have let you think I didn't care. But Mama was insistent too, you did not need to know why you were left behind, you should know your place and accept my decisions.' He looked into her wide blue eyes. 'I deeply regret hurting you, Valentine. It was never my intention to do so. I consider myself an honourable man and in taking up my ancient right I had no intention of treating you cruelly, of repeating the depravation of my ancestors. It is to my eternal shame that I have done so.'

'It's never good to have secrets,' she said softly, as guilty as he was in that matter.

'No,' he agreed, knowing there was yet another secret he was keeping from her and that he needed to tell her before it was too late. But try as he might the words would not come.

Pierre and Guy rode out each morning, surveying the grounds, hunting when the fog was absent.

'You have not told her, have you?' Pierre said.

Guy shrugged. 'It is impossible to find the words. She is so happy, it will break her heart.'

'She is a smart girl, she must understand that it won't change your feelings towards her.'

'She remains an innocent, Pierre, it's part of why I love her so.'

'And the rest,' Pierre chuckled.

Guy laughed too. 'And the rest of her very considerable charms. But you know I must marry. I need a son. You have enough. You are free now to enjoy your life as you see fit, at least until your father dies. But I have too many responsibilities and am getting no younger.'

Pierre nodded. 'You have waited too long to remarry. You are a sentimental man, it has always been your weakness. I hope you have chosen well this time.'

'I think so. She is due tomorrow, you will meet her. I would value your opinion. Mama is very taken with her.'

Pierre laughed uproariously. 'Then she is bound to be the right sort of wife!'

They laughed and rode on, resting by a brook for the horses to drink.

'You have to tell Valentine before your new bride arrives.'

'I know.'

'I could take her for you,' Pierre ventured.

Guy glared at his friend. 'Is that why you are here?'

Pierre shrugged nonchalantly. 'By my calculations the one thousand days is well and truly expired. The contract is over. You hold no legal or moral sway over her. I would like her to come with me. I would marry her.'

'Pierre you are my dearest friend but I do not take kindly to this conversation.'

'She is simply your mistress now. Of her own free will, is that true?'

Guy shrugged avoiding his friend's eyes.

'Oh,' said Pierre. 'She does not realise the contract has expired. She does not know she is free.'

Guy hung his head.

'Shame on you, my friend, shame. You are still taking advantage of her.'

'I hope she will understand. I have done all I can to make her love me so she will understand and stay with me.'

'But if I make her a better offer and she chooses me?'

'I will fight you for her.'

'Then you will lose. You know you are no match for me with a sword or a pistol, or had you forgotten that?'

The two friends stood in silent anguish, knowing they had reached a fork in the road of their friendship and their lives. Guy had already lost his friendship with Alexei for Valentine. His relationship with his mother was strained because of Valentine. His new wife would be made unhappy by Valentine's existence, given her beauty and place in his heart. He had kept away from the court these several years because of Valentine and now his dearest friend would kill him for the girl.

Pierre understood some of Guy's torment, and as a true friend offered him a solution. 'Shall we let her choose?'

Guy nodded emphatically. 'Yes.' She would choose him, he knew that as certainly as he breathed.

'But,' Pierre cautioned, 'she must choose knowingly. She must be told her contract has expired and your bride will be here to be married within the month.'

They shook hands. Guy's heart was heavy.

'At dinner, then?' Pierre said.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Small talk about the weather and gossip from court held sway until they retired to the blue drawing room for liqueurs.

Pierre knew that Guy had not told Valentine from his darting eyes, his brittle laughter, his distracted conversation. He had no wish to hurt his friend but his own desires were strong.

'Valentine, my dear,' he sat by her, taking her hand. Guy looked into the fire. 'I put a proposal to you last week when we danced. I would like to put it again.'

She looked nervously from Pierre to Guy. 'Guy?' she whispered.

He shrugged. 'Let Pierre speak.'

'I am travelling to Venice within a day or two. I want you to come with me. I am prepared to offer you marriage and travel with you as my wife, as the Duchess of Burgundy. As your one thousand days contract as the bound servant of the marquis has expired you are free to come with me. What is your answer?'

She looked at the marquis with horror. 'I am free? The time has expired?'

'It expired some time ago,' he whispered. 'I thought you knew. I thought you understood that you were now with me of your own free choice. That is one of the possibilities at the end of the time. You remain my mistress. I thought we had an agreement.'

'We talked of it. But I had not realised the time was gone.' She thought a moment. 'Perhaps I lost track of the time when I was ill for so long.'

He smiled at her. 'Yes, perhaps that is so. So do you chose to remain as we are, as my beloved mistress or do you chose Pierre and become his wife?'

'I have offered to fight for you,' Pierre said. 'My offer is made in the utmost seriousness.'

'It is your choice, Valentine,' Guy said, sensing his advantage.

'Indeed it is,' Pierre agreed, 'but before you make your decision let me ask you one small question.'

She nodded.

'Do you know who is expected here tomorrow?'

Pierre watched Guy's face: he had not told her. Now was the test of her love for him.

'A carriage comes bearing the new Marquise de Chatillon. The marquis' new bride arrives tomorrow to be married later this month.' He spoke softly aware of the poison in each word.

Valentine's face was drained of all colour. She went to the marquis, taking his hand, beseeching him to look at her. 'Is this true? You are to be married? She comes tomorrow? Tomorrow?'

Guy's head remained turned towards the fire, his answer barely audible in the silent room. 'Yes.'

''No more secrets' you said,' she hissed. 'No more secrets.'

She stood completely still in the room, the words reverberating in its confines, bouncing off the paintings and the decorations. She heard a crack, felt a pain from the core of her being: she was sure her heart had broken. Tears came but she did not move.

'I am sorry,' Pierre said.

'Are you?' she asked. 'I think not. But perhaps you did not want this scene, so you are sorry for that. You are sorry to hurt your friend and my heart is merely incidental. You thought of yourself and that is fair. You asked me in good faith. You have not been dishonest towards me and you make me a very handsome offer. I do not love you but you care little for love. You laugh freely, you have no wish to humiliate me and you seem honest. Perhaps that is enough.'

She looked at Guy. He had broken his promise too many times. He could not look at her, not offer any words that would make any difference.

Valentine took Pierre's hand, bowing to him. 'I accept your offer.'

He bowed graciously, feeling the warmth of her hand in his. 'I will make you happy, Valentine. I can promise that.'

'It is enough that you take me away from here.' She turned to the marquis. 'I will need a day to pack.'

He nodded. 'Take as much time as you need. Take all you want. Take every gift, they are yours forever. You will need a maid. You make take Sophie if she wishes to go.'

The marquis shook Pierre's hand to confirm the arrangements. 'Look after her, or I will kill you.'

As timing would have it the new marquise was delayed in her arrival which gave Valentine time to leave the chateau before her rival arrived. Valentine's dresses, jewels and gifts were all packed carefully into boxes and loaded onto Pierre's second coach. Sophie, dressed in her finest, an old dress from Valentine, packed her own small case of possessions and cried as she stepped into the second carriage with Pierre's man-servant.

'Goodbye, my friends,' she sobbed. 'I will miss you all.'

'Write to us,' said Mathilde. 'Don't forget us.'

'How could I?' she said. 'You have been my family for so many years.'

Mathilde could not stop her tears. 'How will you survive without me?' she joked feebly.

Valentine shook her head. 'I won't. I would take you if I could.'

Mathilde shook her head. 'The dowager needs me more each day. You are young, Sophie will be good to you.'

'She has been well trained.'

'Don't forget me,' Mathilde said.

'Never,' said Valentine, holding the old woman's hands in hers. 'I shall never forget your kindness and your love.'

'Be happy,' whispered Mathilde, kissing Valentine tenderly on the cheek.

Rene embraced Valentine warmly as did Jacques. 'I shall miss you both,' she said. 'You have cared for me with such kindness and devotion. I shall not forget you either.'

The marquis shook Pierre's hand strongly, remembering that once they had been the best of friends. 'I wish you happiness, Pierre. But I entreat you, take good care of her. She is most precious to me. I wish you luck.'

'And you, my friend,' Pierre replied, embracing him for the last time. 'I hope your bride brings you sons and you find happiness again.'

Valentine allowed the marquis to embrace her and kiss her cheek. 'Goodbye, my sweet Valentine. You can never be removed from my heart, you will remain there always.'

'Farewell,' she said. 'Perhaps we will meet again one day. Perhaps we can be friends some day.' She bowed to him and stepped into the carriage, taking her adoring puppy with her.

She smiled through her tears at her friends waving sadly as the carriage swept her away into her new life, into an unknown future. The duke's fine carriage with his handsome horses clattered passed a newly arriving carriage as they travelled down the long avenue of poplars, the same elegant avenue Valentine had travelled down over a thousand days before. Then she had been a shy, innocent peasant girl, now she was a woman who was about to become a duchess and take her place in society.

In the window seat above the grand entrance to the house, sitting, watching over Valentine's departure and the imminent arrival of the new marquise, was the dowager. A tiny tear escaped her eye, which sat incongruously with the smug smile upon her face. Sometimes, Elise considered, you had to place your trust in God and wait patiently for the world to right itself. She looked to where her son stood alone, discreetly wiping his eyes, composing himself for the next stage of his life, and she smiled broadly.

One Thousand Days – Epilogue

Valentine had been gone for eight hours; long, lonely hours despite, or perhaps made more intense by, the new addition to the household. The marquis had spent the day in quiet civility, doing his duty with the utmost charm and decency. The new addition felt entirely welcome as she settled into her suite of rooms to prepare for her impending nuptials.

The marquis left her to take solace in the space that was once filled by Valentine. He let himself into her room, where her smell and essence lingered. He walked through her rooms, trailing his fingers across smooth polished surfaces, lingering where a gift from him had sat, remembering the occasion for the particular gift and her delight, her spontaneous smile as she accepted his offering. He stood by the fire, recalling, only a few weeks gone now, giving her the puppy, with its gold and black coat, its floppy ears and large paws. How she loved that gift, how she cradled it to her breast and cooed and giggled at its softness and odd smell. She was such a child, such a sweet angel.

And he had lost her. He felt his knees weaken beneath the weight of his guilt, his shame at his treatment of her, all the lies and deceit over the years with her. He was a fool, the biggest fool he knew. How could he blame Pierre for his audacious visit, his wicked request? Valentine deserved better than him, and the marquis knew that.

Her dressing room was bare. Where once a hundred beautiful dresses had hung there was nothing, not even a scarf or forgotten handkerchief. No combs on her table, no memento for him to prize. But wait; there was something. Beneath her mirror where once sat her lacquered inlaid jewel box, found in Florence, imported from the East, was a gold chain, a slender chain with an engraved heart: his first gift to her. She had left it behind. He felt his heart rip, a pain settling at the depth of his being. He'd thought she'd taken all his gifts; that she wanted to keep the mementoes of their life together. But this one gift, this most precious and simple of gifts she had abandoned.

He shut his eyes, drew in his breath. Then he looked for something else, something else it seems she would have abandoned. He searched surfaces, then the floor: it was not there. He exhaled with relief. She had kept her golden ring after all. He smiled, clutching the necklace to his breast. She had not forsaken him after all. The necklace was for him to remember her, for she had her remembrance of him: she remained bonded. She had kept her promise, to never remove the ring. Pierre might hold her warm body in his and take all the pleasure in the world from her but the marquis held her heart. It was the most important part of her.

Guy, Marquis of Chatillon turned the locks in the outer and inner doors to Valentine's suite of rooms. He put the keys away in his strong box. No-one would enter these rooms, save himself, or Valentine, when she returned. He hung the chain around his neck, swearing to wear it until he could place it round her lovely slender throat once more, taking her in his arms to tell her how much he loved her, welcoming her back into his life, safe once more in his arms.

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